Taste Me In Unequaled Thoughts

by kayura sanada

Sequel to See Me In Faded Memories. Merthur. Merlin and Arthur acclimate to the changes between them. Uther, however, has had enough.

3. Part III

Taste Me In Unequaled Thoughts

Part III

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His father had lost his mind.

Arthur had no other excuse for the madness Uther had just unleashed. Not only breaking his oath to leave Merlin unharmed, but sending him out before Arthur could do more than hear of Merlin being called to the throne room. Seeing as Uther's leak of the knowledge of Merlin's magic hadn't worked, rumored as it had been and nothing more, the man had turned to Merlin being Arthur's lover as an excuse for banishment. Arthur hadn't believed it, listening to his father berate him for his indiscreet actions with Merlin the last few nights. As if they'd done more than sleep. As if it mattered! Merlin was more than just a sexual partner. He was Arthur's consort, named by Arthur himself. While he wasn't officially wed, the word held meaning when announced by royalty. Yet Uther dismissed it as if it were nothing.

And Merlin, going to see his king as ordered, was pulled from the room by men and taken, he was told by the servant who brought him his food, to a carriage, where he was to be led from the castle into exile.

Arthur hurt, thinking of Merlin, scared and alone, taken from his home without even the chance to say goodbye to his friends, to Gaius, to Arthur, pulled like a prisoner simply because Arthur hadn't been able to control his nightmares of Merlin's still, pale, corpse-like flesh.

But no. Uther would have found any excuse. Arthur's weaknesses weren't the issue. Not in this instant.

And to go so far – to break his oath so thoroughly. Not only throwing Merlin away, but sending him out in a royal carriage in the dead of night. No escort, no knight protection. Nothing. Only a fool would believe Merlin to be safe.

Merlin had his magic, yes. But it wasn't infallible. And Uther knew of it, too; he would have made sure to have countermeasures in place. And Merlin, bound and helpless, would be met with bandits.

Arthur squeezed his eyes shut, even as he paced uselessly in his room, trapped in it like a prison cell. He was uselessly stuck while Merlin found himself beset by enemies and the pain of losing everything. And what could Arthur do about it? He'd tried fighting with his father, reasoning, threatening. And finally he'd been dragged away from the king, deemed 'not of sound mind' and thrown in his room. Guards loyal to Uther stood outside this very instant, just waiting for him to try to escape.

What if Merlin was already dead? What if all his worrying was for nothing?

He covered his face. No, he couldn't think like that. Thinking like that was like experiencing death. He couldn't. He couldn't do it. Merlin was alive. He had to believe it. Yet he knew what happened on battlefields. Even the best knights could fall to luck, to chance. One man's blade could slide into anyone, no matter whom. A fool's blade could pierce the best of knights if enough were aimed at him. And Merlin in that carriage at night, hands bound, Uther's measures in place to keep him from using his magic... he wouldn't be able to grab the dagger, even if he had it on him – did he have it on him? Arthur should have asked. Yet it wouldn't matter; Merlin wouldn't be able to grab it in time.

No. No. Gwaine. He'd sent Gwaine after Merlin, told him to do whatever he must, that he had Arthur's permission to do whatever needed to get to Merlin's side. Gwaine would reach him in time.

But then what? Fight Uther's guards? Become blacklisted for attacking Camelot's men? Merlin was already exiled.

Exiled. And his mind nipped down that one last path, that horrible path that said that even if Gwaine met up with him, even if he was saved from bandits and Uther's men, he couldn't return. Not with Uther's order in place. And Uther would never take it back. Never.

Arthur stopped pacing and covered his face. No. He needed to think of something. Merlin would stay alive. He would keep his promise to stay alive, and Arthur needed to make sure he made it possible for Merlin to keep his other promise, his promise to remain by Arthur's side.

Gods. He scrubbed his face. And if Gwaine did meet up with him and save him from an attack from bandits? Could Gwaine protect Merlin from Morgause, who at this very moment was tracking him, waiting for the chance to strike, to take him from Arthur? His heart thudded in his chest as he considered the thought. No. Gwaine wouldn't stand a chance. Would Merlin? Was Merlin's magic strong enough to defend against Morgause's powers? Morgause, who could call the Knights of Medir from their eternal slumber?

He needed to think of a way to get Uther to allow Merlin back. Before it was too late.

He looked around. The room was still semi-clean from Merlin's – no, gods, he couldn't think of it, he just couldn't. If he did, he would start looking at his armor again, the weapons taken when the guards saw them within. All of them sparkling to perfection. Merlin had been taking care of them again, and Arthur would think, once more, on how Merlin always made sure, no matter how lazy he was with everything else, that Arthur's armor was perfect, clean, not rusted, each link secure, every buckle strong, every piece of metal undented, how he would check over every weapon, slide the sharpening stone over the weapons until they cut his thumb simply touching the edge, how he would shine them until they gleamed, cradle them, nearly coo at them, because nothing to Merlin was more important than Arthur coming out of every battle unscathed, no matter how much he complained about having to constantly clean them. Because, just maybe, Merlin complained about cleaning them not because it was difficult and redundant, but because he didn't like the thought of Arthur being in a battle to begin with.

And if he thought of that, then he might remember all of the times Merlin had admitted that he was Arthur's, that everything he did was for Arthur, that he would give his life, his soul, his very sanity for Arthur. How his magic, hated in Camelot, lauded to be nothing but evil, used by evil men, for evil deeds, evil purposes, only harm and ruin coming from its tongue and touch, how every time he used it, it was for Arthur's sake. How Merlin was magic, and magic was Merlin, and Merlin was his.

And if he thought about that, he would think about how his father hated magic, and thus hated Merlin, even though Merlin had done nothing but save Arthur's life over and over again, both his life and his soul, too, because Arthur had bullied his own people before Merlin came along and showed him who he was and who he could be.

And if he thought that, the rage would bubble within him anew, and he would want his father's head off his shoulders. And Merlin had been found out because he'd saved Arthur's life, and Uther's, and if Merlin, magical, hated Merlin could spare Uther's life, then Arthur had to be at least as good.

But Arthur still wished he had a weapon, his sword at the very least, because Merlin, his most precious of people, was in danger, and there was absolutely nothing Arthur could do as he was.

Never before had he wanted the throne. Never before had he wanted his father's time to come, for Arthur's time to come. It was horrible, and heady, and terrifying, that he wanted to change the kingdom he loved in order to save it. He'd never needed Merlin's random words of wisdom more.

Merlin. Merlin. Had he been killed yet? Captured? Prince, yet powerless. What use was his crown if it hadn't the power to protect?

Someone knocked on his door, and almost Arthur railed at them, cursed as he had when he'd first been confined. He wanted to throw something, to scream, to destroy anything and everything that came between him and freedom, him and Merlin, him and anything that tried to keep him from doing what was right. But he swallowed it all back, because what good would it do him? And yelling at a servant – for it had to be a servant – would solve nothing. The servant wouldn't deserve the abuse.

He nearly chuckled at the thought, thinking back on what he'd been like before Merlin. Such a horrible thing to think about.

"Come in," he said, furious and humiliated that the words meant nothing, that he had no say over who came and went in and out of his own chambers. He nearly jolted when the door opened and Gwen stepped inside. He stared at her with wide eyes as she curtsied at him, food held in her hands even though he'd eaten only a couple of hours ago.

She kept her gaze on him as she moved toward the table, until finally the guards closed the door behind her. Then she dropped the plate on the table and hurried to his side. "Arthur!" she whispered. "I heard about what happened to Merlin. What's going on?"

Arthur had to close his eyes. Of course Gwen knew about it; by now, the whole castle, possibly the entire city, knew about what had happened. The feeling of rage drew through him once again. "Merlin was exiled for being my lover," he said, teeth gritted, and was hardly gratified by Gwen's loud gasp. "Uther sent him away."

"Oh, Arthur." She touched his arm, but she said nothing else. There was nothing more to be said. She bit her lip. "What did Merlin say?"

Arthur shook his head. "I didn't get the chance to speak with him." He chuckled humorlessly. "Not that it would matter. I can imagine him. 'Don't worry about it, Arthur. It's fine.'" Just thinking about it made Arthur want to smash something. "I have to get him back, Gwen."

She nodded immediately. "The king has seemed angry over Merlin's presence for a while," she said, a bit carefully. "There have been rumors – ridiculous ones, but I think the king believes them to be true. Because he doesn't know him. Merlin. The king doesn't know Merlin, so – not that the king is ridiculous! Just the rumors – but–"

Arthur held up his hand, and Gwen gratefully stopped. "Whether the rumors are true or not, whatever they are, does not concern me," he said, carefully keeping from saying anything about Merlin's magic. Merlin's magic. Words that he'd once never thought to hear or speak or consider now felt normal, almost sacred. He took a deep breath. "Merlin is loyal to me. He's shown that over and over again. For his loyalty to be rewarded with this. It's inexcusable." Not to mention that his father had sent the man he loved away, not trusting Arthur to truly feel such an emotion for anyone Uther didn't choose.

The problem was that Merlin was guilty of the 'crime.' Though they hadn't done anything recently, they had before, and Arthur had certainly wanted to do so again, as soon as Merlin didn't look at him with wide eyes whenever Arthur expressed concern for him. And while Arthur had fought against the rumors of Merlin's magic as best he could, it didn't change the fact that yes, Merlin had magic, and yes, Arthur was now complicit in keeping it secret. Merlin had been exiled because he was with Arthur and, secretly, because he was a sorcerer. Arthur couldn't argue either point. He'd named Merlin his consort, but without any official...

He straightened. That was it. That was it – there was something he could do.

He turned to Gwen. "Gwen. I'm going to need your help."

She nodded. "Anything, Arthur."

A small frisson went up his spine, her words bringing to mind Merlin's words once again. It took him a moment to clear his head of the echoes of Merlin's own fealty. "I need you to..." He stopped and held up his hand. He'd heard something. At first he wondered if it was a scuttling noise, and feared he and Gwen were in danger from another one of those creatures, the one that Merlin had caught in his magic. But then logic clamped down hard and his gut twisted. Why enter the castle and send enemies after him when Arthur would willingly leave the castle all on his own in order to take Merlin back?

A message? His gut sank straight through the floor. Had the rustling sound been a piece of paper?

And then a form shivered before him, and even as he pulled Gwen back behind him and shouted for the guards outside his room, the wind whipped and bellowed and someone stepped forward. Someone small, feminine, and wrapped in a deep velvet cloak. The hood was down, and Arthur thought he could see something strange about her chest. The wind cleared just in time for him to see a hilt – his hilt, from his dagger, and the riotous blond curls, before one hand waved imperiously to the side and Arthur went flying. He crashed into his table, then the wall. The armor Merlin had painstakingly polished pelted the floor.

Outside his room, Arthur heard the guards shout.

He struggled to his feet, the table broken and collapsed into pieces beneath and before him. He grabbed the wall. Gwen shouted something, and he turned to her in time to see her swing a table leg at Morgause. She, too, was flicked away. Yet Arthur's heart, pounding nearly out of his chest, wasn't even for her safety, even as he shouted for her, and certainly not for his own.

That dagger was the one he'd given Merlin.

He had no weapon, but he had his shield, and he launched forward and grabbed it as Morgause turned back to him. With one roll, he was in front of Gwen's prone form, and he held up his shield as Morgause shrieked and threw – threw something at him, something blue and bright like an unnatural fire. The shield caught its blow.

The guards finally opened his door, and he shouted, "sorceress!" as a warning. But though they had already pulled out their swords, one thrown arm tossed them back through the doorway. Arthur hesitated, unwilling to leave Gwen behind.

He heard a groan then, a soft, almost whimpering sound, and said, "Gwen, get up!"

He heard her jolt. "Arthur?" Then he felt her hand on his shoulder, one firm squeeze, and he stood. Gwen's skirt rustled behind him. He stared out over his shield. Yes, that hilt of Merlin's dagger had sunk deep into her skin. He couldn't see past the cloak hiding Morgause's body, but she had to have lost a substantial amount of blood, even with the dagger holding the worst of it inside. And from where it was positioned, it would be a miracle if it hadn't nicked a lung. He hoped it had. "Where is Merlin?"

She chuckled, the sound wet enough to tell him it had nicked a lung, after all. She bent nearly in half. The cloak made her look fat, almost humpbacked, like a hag. "Yes, your precious little prostitute." Arthur snarled at the insult. "He seemed to be having a hard time. So many bandits, so little time." She looked around at all the lit candles in Arthur's room, their wicks low, testament to Arthur's restless movements these past few hours. She chuckled again. "So few friends."

If it weren't for Gwen behind him, he would have launched himself at her. Had that been a threat? Had there been a double meaning? What had happened to Gwaine? And what did she mean by 'hard time'? Had the inevitable bandit attack occurred, or had she just seen them on their way to attack him? Had Uther's men harmed him? Was he even now injured and alone, waiting for Morgause to return? Or... but her words didn't speak of death. And if Merlin were dead, Morgause wouldn't have come. She wouldn't have needed to. She would have left Merlin's body for someone to find, and Arthur would have eventually heard of it, if only because Uther wouldn't understand why Arthur wasn't 'healed' from the 'enchantment.'

Arthur didn't want to think what his father would be willing to do to 'cure' him.

Arthur didn't want to know what he would do, if he were to find that his father's actions had led Merlin to his death.

Morgause wheezed in a breath, clutching the dagger in her fist, and Arthur grabbed Gwen's arm and made for the door. Morgause thrust out her hand, and Arthur used his shield to block, but nothing shot out at him. Instead some force pushed against him, and he skidded back, thankfully toward the door. He lost his grip on Gwen. Something clanged beneath his foot, and he bent down to grab the sword one of the guards had dropped. He saw, out of the corner of his eye, one of them get to his feet. "Warn the castle!" he shouted, and the man hesitated for only a moment before doing as told. Arthur searched for Gwen.

She stood just opposite Morgause, and were it not for Morgause taking the moment to rip out the dagger embedded in her flesh, Gwen's defenseless position in the middle of Arthur's room would have granted her almost certain death. Arthur ran back to her, much calmer now with a weapon in hand, and barely dodged the dagger as Morgause sent it streaming toward him. He turned his dodge into a roll as Morgause's gaze returned to him. He got up awkwardly, the shield hampering his movements. Against magic, however, he couldn't afford to drop it.

Gwen, for her part, scampered quickly back behind him, and Arthur made once more for the door as Morgause put a hand to her chest. He still couldn't see the blood past her cloak, but he could hear it now, dripping and sloshing down to the floor. A puddle grew around Morgause's feet. Her lips pulled back in a snarl.

She seemed to be trying to heal herself. Arthur couldn't let her. That blow had been dealt by Merlin; Arthur wouldn't let it go to waste. "Gwen, get to safety," he said. Gwen didn't bother arguing, or asking him what he would do. She merely ran. Arthur planted himself in front of her, shield held before him. But Morgause let Gwen go, her hand still on her chest. He thought he heard her mumbling. What was she doing? A spell? He wouldn't give her the chance.

He twisted the sword in his hand, quickly getting the weight of it, then charged. Morgause hopped back until she touched the wall. Her teeth, when she pulled her lips back, were red. "Besweðe in bæl!"

Arthur lifted his shield, but instead of slamming against him, the spell swirled around his feet. Heat first, and then light, and flames burst in a circle, rising to his knees. He kept his shield up, ready for another attack, or perhaps for the flames to tear into him, but they only kept him in place. As if that wasn't bad enough.

He barely saw Morgause beyond the flames, but what he did see of her made him snarl. She pressed her hand once more to her chest, stumbled a bit, and said, "Áséowebeclýse." And he knew she was healing herself of Merlin's wound.

Merlin, who had stabbed her but not stopped her. Merlin who may or may not be injured, surrounded, battling even as Arthur stood against the fire and heat, armor stinging his skin.

He swung his sword into the flames. While the flames didn't turn his sword white-hot or light it on fire or whatever else magic might be capable of doing, the slice did nothing to the fire. It was too high, up to his waist, too strong, almost an orange wall. The smoke billowed to the ceiling of his room. Ridiculously, he imagined Merlin struggling to reach the ceiling far above to get the smoke stains out.

Gods. Merlin. Arthur couldn't afford to waste time here.

He couldn't just go through the flames, but he could use them. He ducked further behind his shield, then ripped off a piece of his shirt and tied it into a ball. He ripped off another piece, and another, as Morgause huffed and clutched her chest, until she finally stood straight. Thank you, Arthur thought, trying to send his gratitude to Merlin. If not for him, he never would have had the time to make his weapons.

And better, Morgause, breathing heavily as if having run a marathon, spoke. "This is perhaps better," she said. "Not quite as good as making the servant lead you to your destruction, but the best plan. How better to destroy both Uther Pendragon and that boy that to kill the one they love? And we'll be one step closer to destroying Camelot."

For an instant, his fury rose, nearly higher than he could control. Hurt Uther and Merlin by hurting him? He would not be Camelot's weakness. He was its prince. A prince had to be a country's strength. He couldn't allow himself to fall to this woman and her magic.

And then he realized she'd said we and nearly faltered, thinking of Morgana and what Merlin had told him. We. Could Morgana really be a part of all this? Had Morgana really turned her back on them all?

Despite having believed Merlin, he found himself stunned all over again by the idea of it. Of Morgana, stalwart, independent Morgana, the woman who threw her righteousness down other people's throats, somehow turned wicked. But even as his mind rebelled against it, he remembered Merlin's face when he'd told Arthur – that hurt, resigned, I-wish-it-wasn't-true look that he'd seen when Merlin had warned him of Valiant, of the unicorn's curse, of the fact that his men hadn't survived his battle with the dragon. It was that look that had first made him start to believe.

And now there may be truth to Merlin's worst fears. If Morgana had joined with Morgause, then what would that mean for all of them? Arthur hurt enough thinking of how different Morgana would be, how her sense of righteousness might change to vengeance, fury. She'd always had a sharp temper, sharper even than his, because she held grudges like no one else he'd ever known. And if she had magic? What would she do to Camelot?

And he couldn't help it; he thought of Uther. Of his father's pain and fury when he found out about Morgana, about how she might have changed. And though he himself could understand what such a switch might have been caused by – the fear, the terror, the way Merlin had looked at Arthur as if expecting Arthur to take up his sword and bury it in Merlin's chest – he already knew his father wouldn't. His father would blame the magic. And if he did, what would stop him from hunting Merlin down and making sure...

But that might not be a problem, because, thanks to Uther's actions, Merlin might already be hurt or dying. Or worse.

Arthur looked toward the sorceress as she stood straight before him, and he lobbed one wadded ball of fabric through the top of the flames. It barely caught on fire, and she pushed it away – toward his table, he thought, using his sword to hide his grin. As she raised her hand again, he threw another, and then a third, just as she tossed the second away. The flames jumped higher, just for an instant, nearly lighting the wadded fabric into ash. Instead it sailed through with the fire coursing up and down its length, and though Morgause tossed it aside, as well, this time toward the windows – Arthur hoped some of his knights saw it – tiny sparks shot away with the blast. Even through the fire surrounding him, he saw one bit land on her cloak. As she stamped it out, he threw his last one and surged forward, holding his shield as if the fire were a raging beast.

He slammed his shield onto the floor the instant he made the barrier, and thankfully, the fire, though it raged on either side of the shield as if reaching claws out on either side, dampened enough for him to roll through it, toward Morgause. Only when he got his feet back from under him did he see that she was muttering something to douse the fire on her clothes. Good. Success. He used his roll for momentum and got as close to Morgause as he dared. She looked up just as he swung his sword, yet still she managed to shoot him away. When she did, her eyes glowed gold.

His shield had only partially been up, and it actually acted as detriment now; caught sideways in the wind, it flung him spinning to his left. He smashed into the wall and crumpled, the shield a heavy weight beneath him. He shrugged it off as he stood, forgoing its uses for speed.

The table had, somewhere along the line, caught on fire.

Arthur watched the trail of flames inch up the leg of the table, the small rag of his shirt little more than an ashy scrap. The fire spread to the top of the table and the nearest chair. Good. He looked back to Morgause.

She didn't seem too concerned about the fire. She didn't seem too concerned about anything, really. But Arthur saw the smoke building up in the room and felt a frisson of hope.

Morgause mumbled something, her palm held out toward him, and now, without his shield, he was able to dodge. Sharp needles formed in the air and shot toward where he'd stood. Then again, and he listened as she spoke – "áþræw pílas" – and dodged just as the spikes shot out at him. This time, however, he bumped his shoulder into his bed. It slowed his roll just enough that a spike embedded itself in his leg. He hissed. But then he heard, over the roar of the flames, someone shouting about fire in the prince's room, and if there wasn't help coming before, there certainly would be then.

Morgause's face contorted into something hideous, and she screeched. "I will not let this go!" she shouted. Her hands both raised. "I will not let you win!"

She raised her hands, something mad in her eye. The smoke from the table billowed to the ceiling. "Sire!" someone shouted, and though Arthur did not turn to look, he knew his knights had arrived. They gathered around him, even as the fire in the middle of his room blazed and the smoke curled around him. "Your orders?" That someone spoke again, and this time Arthur recognized the voice as Kay's.

"Stop her," he said, just as she started speaking again.

"Besweðe Arthur Pendragon heorte en bæl!" Kay attacked, even as Arthur suddenly found the fire to dim in comparison to the new flames jumping out at him. Within him. Someone else shouted something – a new person outside his door, and then the booming voice of his father. Arthur staggered. His knights screamed.

Someone grabbed his shoulder, and he wrenched the hand off, ready to stab whoever it was through. But even through the too-bright light and the heat burning in his chest, he could see the frightened, almost angry gaze of one of his men – no, no, it was Leopold, one of those against Merlin's presence in the castle – but the man still grabbed his shoulder again and dragged him from the room. His father took his place, barking orders to his men. And as Arthur watched, Morgause shouted more gibberish to the sky. His knights flew to all corners of his room. One fell into the ring of fire. He screamed and screamed.

Then Arthur was outside his room, and the smoke no longer fogged his vision or burned his throat. Instead his chest felt hot, burning hot and tight, all at once, as if someone had clamped it with a hot poker. He shook in a wheezing breath.

"Sire. Sire, are you all right?" Then, in a voice almost too low for Arthur to hear over the yelling, "I can't believe he was right."

Arthur clutched his chest. Though he thought he could see much better now, his eyes still swum. Tears from the smoke? He coughed, but he didn't think it was from inhaling too much of the thick gas. Morgause laughed, then shrieked. And then Arthur heard nothing.

He looked at the hall, how normal it seemed – other than the smoke curling out from his room. He heard his father, still shouting orders. Someone – Leopold again – shook his shoulder. "Sire?"

Arthur waved him off. He heard his father raging, saw men race out. They shouted for water. Trying to douse the flames, then. Could they? Could magical flames be so easily doused? If Merlin were here, he could actually ask him, and he could get an answer. The thought surprised him, then amazed him, then hurt him. Then infuriated him. He wanted to walk inside his room and take his sword to his father's throat. He wanted to hunt Merlin down and chain him to his side. He wanted to demand answers and questions to everything, anything he could think of, and berate Merlin uselessly for not knowing the answers to them all.

He heaved a breath, then pulled himself to his feet. His chest felt like it was searing apart. He trembled. "Sire, did the witch hurt you?"

He thought to speak, to answer in some way, but when he opened his mouth, his entire body scorched. He clamped his lips shut to keep down the mewling sounds bubbling in his throat.

"Arthur."

His father stepped out of his room, undoubtedly to demand he go do something, hunt Morgause down or tend to his tattered rooms, but when his father saw him, the man paled and hurried to his side. The movement shocked a spark of warmth in Arthur, despite everything.

Then Uther was shouting for more men to come, and for Leopold to grab Arthur and lift him. "You did well," Uther said, and Arthur steadied his gaze on him as other knights came to grab him as if he wasn't already standing perfectly well on his own two feet. His father, however, wasn't looking at him anymore. He was turned to Leopold. "It's good you came back. That woman might have done far worse if you hadn't come to warn us."

Leopold nodded, then, with a small voice, said, "the boy warned me, m'lord. He said I needed to go to Arthur, even if I had to stab him to do it."

Arthur closed his eyes. Merlin. He was speaking of Merlin. And if he was still alive – please, please let him still be alive – then Arthur was going to punch him in the face for saying such a thing.

Uther nodded. "And did you?"

Arthur's heart thundered at the very suggestion, and he glared murder at Leopold as he moved to help pick Arthur up. Arthur tried to struggle out from his men's hands, but he still couldn't breathe properly and his knees finally gave out. His men hoisted him up, but Leopold, at least, recognized the warning for what it was and stepped back. "No, sire. I was ordered to send him into exile. I didn't think you would be pleased if I..."

Uther shook his head, and though his lips thinned a bit, he didn't argue with the man's statement. Arthur glared at his father, too. He'd sworn to not harm Merlin. As far as Arthur was concerned, his father had broken the sacred oath of a knight. "No, it's well done that you didn't. The boy was to be sent home." He stared at Arthur, then motioned the men holding Arthur forward. "Take him to Gaius. Quickly. You. Tell me where the boy was left."

Left? What did that mean? Arthur twisted, flopping like a half-dead fish, to try to make out what his knight and his father might be saying to one another. Left could mean a hundred different things. Wounded. Safe. Dead, or left as good as. Tied up, defenseless against brigands in the middle of the woods? Left in or beside a noble carriage with no protection whatsoever?

But the burning, scalding flame in his chest only got hotter, and bigger, and he finally found he couldn't really breathe much at all. His men, hearing his horrid wheezing, perhaps, stole down the steps to Gaius' chambers fast enough that, if Arthur was dropped, he would likely tumble down the rest of the steps and break his neck.

But his knights got him down safely, and when they kicked against the door, Gaius was already there. Even with black spots forming in his vision, Arthur could see the old man had suffered at least as much as he; bloodshot eyes, ragged hair, sagging countenance. Yet when the physician saw him, he stood from his door and waved the men inside, closing the door with a slam behind them. His patient's table, always clear unless Merlin had dumped his things on it – Merlin, Arthur thought, and wanted to rage and tear and destroy everything until he could see with his own eyes, feel with his own hands, that his idiot servant sorcerer was all right. Instead he was laid down on the cot, and as Arthur sucked on his own throat, Gaius stood over him, demanding to know what had happened. The burn traveled up Arthur's chest, past his throat, and started burning his tongue. He felt it take an equal dive to his guts. They roiled like he might vomit.

"We don't quite know," one of the knights said. "He was attacked by a sorceress. She must have used a spell on him."

Gaius' face, at that news, was grim. "Very well. You, bring me clean water. You, go fetch some tea; he'll soon become dehydrated, if he keeps sweating like that."

Sweating? Gaius put a hand on his forehead as Arthur's men ran to obey Gaius' decrees. Gaius' frown seemed to drag his entire face down to the earth. "Sire, can you hear me?"

Arthur managed to nod. His mouth, however, flapped like a carp. He motioned to his chest and tried to mimic fire with fingers alone. Gaius' frown merely deepened. It was a small miracle his chin wasn't dripping onto the floor. "I will do my best, sire, but you should know that, even though he is not yet well learned in the healing arts, Merlin is a much stronger sorcerer than myself."

Gaius left his side for a moment, and the black spots turned into something hazier. Like his entire vision was dropping to a pinpoint of light. He sucked in half a breath and felt his lungs heave in his chest. The motion made the fire more like touching the sun's core. His hands shook.

But he couldn't fall unconscious easily. Oh, no. Some horrible ruckus was making itself known outside Gaius' window, down far below in the streets. It rang discordant in his ears, and then it finally disappeared. Gaius came back, something in his hands, and pressed it against his chest. Whatever it was, it was warm and smelled absolutely awful, and he started coughing. It made his vision go black. The burning got worse. "As I feared," he heard as if from very far away. The pungent something left. He couldn't breathe.

"Hold on, sire." Gaius went away again, but he was back again in moments. "Alúttre þá séochnis." Gaius cleared his throat. Somehow, while everything else seemed to come to him as if from a dream, that one sound cut through him like sandpaper. He spoke again, but this time Arthur couldn't hear it. He thought there might be something going on again, this time closer. And then Gaius was gone once more.

This was how he was going to die? How ignoble. Not even a quick, honorable death on a battlefield, but on a table from a spell cast by a woman already defeated, throwing a final blow. He wondered how it would have gone if Merlin were there. How many times had he been facing this end, only for Merlin to somehow stop it? Gaius had called Merlin powerful, after all. And even though the idea of Merlin wielding any sort of power without somehow twisting his hands around and managing to slam himself back with his own magic was absurd, he knew nothing else could explain how Merlin had paused his own body in time.

And here he was, on the brink of death, not even thinking to wonder how his kingdom would go on without an heir to the throne. And yet, how he wished he could have helped lead Camelot forward.

Something touched his chest, and somehow it was cool and light, and he heard words. "Ahlúttre þá séocnes." And with a horrible rush of frozen air, Arthur's world burst into light.

He turned on his side and gulped in breath after breath. Some hand rubbed circles on his back. He couldn't even find the strength to shove the hand off. Besides, it felt nice.

His heart pounded so loudly it would have taken up his entire hearing if his ears hadn't been ringing so loudly. The world seemed so much wider, brighter, broader than ever before. And yet he didn't think there was enough air in the room to sustain him. And then he thought there was too much air, and it was burning his lungs again. Only this burning was one he knew, as if he'd been holding his breath underwater for a long, long time.

And finally he heard voices.

"I don't know if it was her or not. I was told only 'sorcerer.'"

Gaius. Was Gaius the one rubbing circles on his back? But he sounded a bit too far away, further to Arthur's right than he should be. And it didn't feel like Gaius, anyway, even though the man hadn't touched him like this since he'd been sick as a child.

"It had to have been her. I knew she would go to him when she failed to grab me. I just – thank the gods I arrived in time."

Merlin.

Gaius cleared his throat again, and once more, that sound grated on Arthur's ears. His heart still pounded in his chest, but this time, it was for a different reason. "Did you have to be so harsh?"

"They were keeping me from him," Merlin said easily. "You said he was dying. And he was." Arthur opened his eyes, even though he didn't quite feel ready to face the world. Princes just had to suck that sort of thing up.

He couldn't see much, lying on his side on Gaius' table, but he managed to see enough. Gaius' chambers looked a bit too messy for the man, and though Arthur would be willing to blame Merlin for parts of that, it wouldn't explain the broken beakers and vials or the books strewn on the floor. But then again, it also wouldn't explain the guard lying face-first on the ground. Arthur struggled to get up, but that soothing hand suddenly became a vice. "No, Arthur, don't get up yet."

Merlin's order was probably for the best, considering how the world suddenly tilted on its side and started swaying to and fro. But he snarled anyway. "What happened?" He tried to gesture to his fallen man, but his arm flopped uselessly. It was too heavy at the moment to lift. He settled on getting his breathing to steady.

"They tried to bar me from the room," Merlin said. Even without looking, Arthur knew Merlin was biting his lip and shifting from foot to foot. "I had to get to you. Gaius said you were dying. I didn't know – I had to make sure you were all right."

The words reminded Arthur so desperately of how he'd been feeling just moments ago that it took him far longer than it should have to piece Merlin's sorry excuse for an explanation together. "You knocked my men unconscious."

Oh, and Arthur knew very well from that pregnant pause just how deeper those teeth were digging into that bottom lip. "I'm sorry?"

He waved again, this time pleased with the almost-acceptable results. "Come here."

He heard the sound of Merlin's reluctant shuffling, and then he saw Merlin's face staring down from above him. He reached up – and yes, he was finally gaining back the ability to move – and grabbed the back of Merlin's head. He yanked Merlin down and kissed him. It was awkward; Arthur was lying completely horizontal on the table. It was clumsy, as Merlin, expecting some sort of smack or hit, most probably, flailed like an angry goose for a good ten seconds, forcing their lips out of alignment at first and slapping Arthur once in the stomach. It was boring, because while Merlin's mouth opened, it was to stutter and make ridiculous noises from the back of his throat. But Arthur held fast, determined, and Merlin finally settled enough that their lips entwined, and Arthur didn't give a shit about the rest.

"Did they see you?" he asked finally, because that was important.

"Considering I used it on them while standing right in front of them, yes. Probably."

Merlin didn't seem half as concerned as Arthur thought he should be. In fact, when Arthur pulled Merlin back a little bit, there was a small smile on Merlin's face. He nearly yelled at the idiot before he realized there were also small tears in Merlin's eyes. He was just happy Arthur was safe. Just as, Arthur found, he was happy to see Merlin safe. But unlike Merlin, Arthur's happiness would last only a few moments longer. "You'll be killed."

Merlin shrugged. "I was already banished, and I came back. Isn't that enough for an execution?"

But Arthur could see how Merlin's hands trembled. Even though his entire body ached, he forced himself to sit up.

It was worse at the entrance of the rooms. Two more guards, including Leopold, lay outside. And Arthur thought he saw blood for a moment, until he realized the liquid on the ground was clear and coming from a bucket. He vaguely recalled Gaius ordering someone to fetch such things.

"Merlin," he said lowly, "You need to get out of here."

But even as he said it, he knew it was too late. He could hear stomping feet, and if this was anything to go by, Merlin had gained entrance to the castle in a similar fashion. Arthur's heart ached, tore, ravaged itself in his chest. "You must go," he said. "To Ealdor. I'll find you."

But Merlin was already shaking his head. "I can't go, Arthur. Look what happens whenever I'm not around. I have to stay with you."

"You won't be able to if you're dead!" Arthur hissed. The footsteps were louder, and shouts were beginning to bounce down the halls. "I will find you. I think I know of a way to get you back in the castle, but you need to leave, at least for now!"

Merlin's eyes widened. His mouth opened, most likely to ask how or what or some other inane question, but even he seemed to realize that his time was running precariously short. He turned a quick, uneasy gaze behind him, and somehow Arthur was grateful for it. It meant Merlin really didn't have a death wish, no matter how much he acted otherwise. Then he turned to Arthur and nodded. "Don't take any risks, and keep your guards with you. Make sure someone checks your rooms before you enter."

"Yes, Merlin, I've had assassins after me before."

Merlin gave him a frankly affronting look that said, 'and you're still alive?' Arthur glared at him. Thankfully, Merlin let it go and turned to leave.

His father and two guards stomped up to the door before Merlin could take more than a single step. Arthur's heart rammed itself into his throat. "Father–"

But Uther was already seeing red. "Sorcerer! Seize him!"

"No!" Arthur said, getting to his feet. Merlin just stood like a startled deer. Arthur's legs wobbled as he tried to stand on them. The guards moved to take Merlin, their swords drawn.

"He has enchanted the prince," Uther said, and Arthur snarled. Merlin jumped. The guards held their swords out as if to cleave Merlin in two.

"He hasn't," Arthur said, snapping at his men. "Father, see sense!"

"He is a sorcerer!" Uther turned his glare on Arthur, and for perhaps the first time, Arthur saw the true level of hatred in Uther's gaze. It nearly looked like madness. Somehow it reminded Arthur of the time he'd gone after his father, furious and hurting for the hypocrisy of using magic, only to spurn it and all magic-users when the spell he'd demanded had taken his wife from him. He remembered being mad with fury and grief, and perhaps that was the reason he thought of it. But a sinking feeling settled in his gut, and he thought perhaps that wasn't at all the case.

After all, it had been Merlin – Merlin, the one with magic himself, the one who'd said he would do anything for Arthur – who had told him Morgause had been trying to trick him.

Merlin just stood there. As if one single movement would get his appendages rearranged. Arthur forced himself forward. The guards shifted as Arthur grabbed Merlin's arm. Instinctively, it seemed, Merlin moved to take Arthur's weight. The guards raised their swords then, and Arthur finally shoved Merlin back. He winced when he heard Merlin stumble and crash to the floor, but he took his place in front of Merlin nevertheless. "I will not allow this, father! I told you! He is my consort, magic or no."

"Arthur," Uther snapped, his voice little more than a growl. He nodded to his knights to continue, and they moved past him, their gazes carefully kept from his own, and they dragged Merlin away. Merlin met his eyes for half a second, and the stupid fool actually shook his head as if telling Arthur to silence himself. Arthur raised his chin. He was the prince. Merlin couldn't tell him what to do. "You are clearly under the sorcerer's spell."

"I'm not!"

"The very fact that you speak such treason is evidence of your enchantment!"

Merlin shook his head wildly as he was pulled from the room, and Arthur was reminded viscerally of the last time Merlin must have been dragged away. Arthur snarled and wished desperately for his sword, wherever he'd dropped it. "He used said magic to save my life! Such an action demands amnesty for such a crime!" Crime. Arthur felt the word like bile on his tongue. "Unless you believe my life worth nothing?"

But Uther just shook his head. "Don't you see? He saved you because you are an investment. You are nothing more to him."

Even though he still felt like his legs might give out, he stomped up to his father. "No. One does not throw one's own life away for an 'investment.' One does not lay one's head forward for my sword for an 'investment,' father."

"He knew you wouldn't do it."

"Really? So he let you bury him?"

"And you went to rescue him!" Uther straightened his posture as if just realizing he was getting into a shouting match with his son. "That boy has seduced and bewitched you, and if I must, I will lock you in the dungeons until his execution is completed."

Arthur nearly engaged his father in battle. "You will not! Merlin just came back to save my life. After you banished him, alone at night in a noble carriage, waiting for him to be attacked!"

"That has nothing to do with this! That boy was evil, is evil, and I am purging him from this castle! And you, Arthur, will do well to stay clear of this. I will have my men keep you under surveillance, and if you do anything untoward, you will find yourself in chains."

And with that, his father turned and left the room.

Arthur took one useless step after him, one step in which he considered grabbing his father, punching him, shoving him. Threatening him. And then he realized, no, that wasn't the way to do it. Any show of force or fury would only exacerbate his father's opinion that he really had been lost to some sort of spell. He covered his mouth with his hand and thought.

He heard a small noise behind him and whipped around. Gaius stood in the corner of the room, his eyes wide, his skin pale as alabaster. He looked ready to fall. Arthur quickly went to his side and helped him onto his bench, careful of the broken vials. "Sire," Gaius said, but his voice shook so violently he couldn't continue.

"I'll save him," Arthur said, gripping Gaius' shoulder tight. "You have my word."

Gaius gave him one long look. Then he nodded. "Yes, sire." When Arthur stood, however, he made a loud grunt of a noise, and Arthur turned back. "You know Merlin would never...?"

Arthur nodded briskly. "Yes, I know. The idiot's in love with me."

Gaius' lips trembled. "Yes. Yes, he is."

Another nod, and Arthur raced to the door. He didn't know quite how he was going to do it, but he would. It was only that determination that kept him from punching the guards waiting outside the room as they made to follow right behind him.

---

Merlin was sent to the dungeons to await the pyre's preparation. Arthur knew this because Gwen ran up, tears streaming down her face, and told him. She clung to his shirt and tried in vain to hold back her sobs as she told him how, without a murmur of protest, he was yanked and pulled and, once, thrown down the last few steps of the castle stairs, until finally he was dragged wincing down to the cells. She told him how the guards heralded him 'sorcerer' and 'traitor,' and how one enterprising servant had spat on him.

Though it meant nothing at the moment, Arthur demanded the servant's name. The woman would be thrown out before the day was through.

Of course, the important part, saving Merlin – on that, he was useless. The guards following him like lost puppies prevented him from doing anything but roam his halls in frustrated impotence, slamming his fists against the walls as he passed and glaring at anyone who came too close, save Gwen and, a few hours after she left, as the sun broke free of the horizon, by a woozy, bleeding Gwaine. Arthur quickly took the man to his room and locked the door on the armored ducklings.

Gwaine, hand still pressed against his head, though it seemed the bleeding had finally stopped a little bit ago, told Arthur everything he could. It wasn't much. Coming across the carriage, only to be beset by bandits the instant he reached Merlin – who had somehow freed himself, Gwaine told him. With magic, Arthur supplied silently, wanting to curse. And then they'd fought, and Merlin had "gotten lucky," according to Gwaine; a man Gwaine had missed in the darkness had managed to trip and knock himself unconscious. With the help of magic, he thought, this time grateful. And then – then a woman had arrived, and Gwaine had been knocked unconscious. When he'd awoken, it had been to find Merlin and a horse gone. "And where else would that little guy go than to you?" Gwaine asked.

And then when Gwaine looked around, obviously about to ask where Merlin was, Arthur could say only, "my father." And then Gwaine had not been in the mood to talk.

Arthur looked out uselessly from his window. Most of the time being there cleared his head, reminded him of what he was working for, but now... everything was blurry. He couldn't find even the most ridiculous of plans to start with. Any attempt to break Merlin out would fail; Gwaine and him both would be watched carefully; they wouldn't get away with sending Gwaine out for something like they had when Merlin had been exiled. Any attempt to placate or persuade his father would fail; the man never gave leeway for magic. He couldn't order others to do as he commanded; even without his father's orders, his men once again thought he was mad. Enchanted. He covered his mouth and leaned against the sill. Gwaine continued pacing behind him; Arthur let him, because the man's restlessness actually seemed to help dull his own.

He needed to think of something, and quickly. If he didn't, Merlin would die.

Gods. He took a ragged breath and forced himself to think. Yes, he had a potential answer to the problem of Uther sending Merlin off, but the magic? Uther wouldn't care if he and Merlin were literally joined at the hip; he would still have Merlin killed. There was nothing to save him. Nothing he could think of.

Someone knocked on his door, and almost he ordered them to go the hell away. But it might have been Gwen, or a guard coming with the news to – for – he strode over to the door and yanked it open. His heart plummeted through the floor when he saw Kay. Wordlessly he shook his head.

"Sire. You have visitors."

Arthur gazed immediately around the hall, but he couldn't see anyone. Anyone save the guards, at least.

"I told them to wait downstairs." Kay's gaze dipped to the guards for a short moment before returning to Arthur. "Just in case you needed discretion?"

Arthur nodded. "Yes, of course. The delegates from the nearby villages were supposed to give me their reports on their crops." He let himself look as if taking care of such business was the very last thing he wished to attend to. Gwaine, unwittingly helping him along, was giving him a disbelieving, almost furious look. "Please escort them up."

But who the hell was it? And could they be used somehow to help him get to Merlin? If nothing else, he could use their presences. Knock them unconscious if he had to, and try to escape out the window while his leeches in the hallway presumed a long meeting in his room.

As Kay left, Arthur gave his father's men – not his men, no, not these, at least – a sardonic look. "Do try to at least not make it apparent that you've placed your prince under house arrest."

He closed the door just as Gwaine started shrieking at him like a banshee. "You're going to listen to vegetable reports when Merlin's life is in danger?! Are you a completely heartless sod? Your consort is awaiting execution!"

Arthur managed, by some strange strength of will, to not flinch, wince, or double over in some dramatic agony. He merely closed his eyes for a few moments, took a deep breath, and said, "I have no such meeting occurring for another three weeks."

Gwaine, thank everything, shut up.

Arthur raked his hands through his hair. "Whoever it is, we need them to stay here. I need to get to Merlin." He thought that over for a moment, then nodded. "Yes, it has to be me. The guards will at least hesitate if they see me. They won't with you." Gods, what should he do? Normally, if he was in a relationship with someone remotely sane, he would be breaking the person loose and sending them the hell out of Camelot, and to hell with his wants. But Merlin wouldn't go. Look at him! In prison because he'd refused to leave Arthur's life to chance. Despite having been banished, despite being on thin ice as it was, he returned anyway. Any attempt to send him away would only leave Merlin free to roam like a fool, get caught by a patrol, run stupidly into the castle again, try to hide out in the forest around Camelot like some lunatic hermit... no, trying to get rid of him would never work.

Arthur only had the one chance, and he needed to hope it would stick even through Uther's mad rampage against magic. And if it didn't? What then? And if it did? What then?

No. One step at a time. Free Merlin. Take him away from all this. No matter what, people were going to accuse Arthur of having lost his senses. No matter what, his people might think he'd lost himself to Merlin's magic. They may no longer trust him, or Merlin, or believe in the kingdom.

As much as Arthur loved Merlin, he couldn't let that happen. Because if it did, then his people would turn from him. His country could become divided – there might even be civil war. Camelot's enemies would take the chance to strike. And no matter what Merlin said about fate or destiny, Camelot would fall, and it would be Arthur's fault.

No. He wouldn't be able to go with Merlin to try to resolve this, at least not immediately. He would just have to send Merlin out on his way alone for a little bit. He could handle himself, right? Even though he was a bumbling idiot of a manservant, he had still managed to keep Morgause away long enough to stab her. Perhaps Arthur had seen the worst first? (Which didn't make him feel relieved at all, that there could be a worst such as that.) All right. First things first. He had to somehow force Merlin to see it his way. For once, he would get his recalcitrant manservant to do as he said.

Ugh. He didn't even believe himself.

He straightened his shoulders as muted talking rose from behind his chamber doors. A prince didn't need to believe himself. He only needed to make others believe.

The door opened, and Arthur nearly gave himself away in front of the waiting guards as Kay led Lancelot and another man inside. The second man nearly had to duck and shift sideways to get through the damn door. Arthur nodded his head. "Glad you could join us," he said, ignoring the suspicious looks of the guards and the confused look twisting Lancelot's face. He waved the man and his friend inside, despite the fact that they already were, and motioned for them to close the door. This time he looked toward his babysitters and glared them a plain warning that they were not to be spied upon. One of the men at least paled before the door closed.

Arthur waved Lancelot over, sparing a short glance for his anything-but-short friend. "Keep your voices down," he said. Lancelot's brow drew lower still. "Merlin – Merlin's been arrested. He's awaiting execution."

While the large man seemed nothing more than confused and perhaps wary, Lancelot jerked back, paused. His eyes widened, then stayed wide. Too long to still be surprised. He knew. It hit Arthur with a crash so deep he nearly lost his feet.

He turned to Gwaine. "While I inform them of what's happened, I need you to get all the information you can. Find and prepare a horse. Not Merlin's usual; they'll look for her. But a placid one." However Merlin acted, Arthur knew he still struggled sometimes with a recalcitrant steed. "Get provisions – food, blankets, drink. Medicine, if you can. Then check on Merlin. Count the guards, their positions."

Gwaine nodded to it all, and when Arthur finally stopped, terrified he'd managed to forget something, Gwaine saluted. "I'm on it." The man walked to the door, threw it open, and glared down at the men waiting outside. He slammed the door behind him. It was obnoxious, but it would match with the argument the guards must have heard between them.

Arthur turned on Lancelot. "He told you." It wasn't a question. It didn't even say what, or who, or when. Even though Arthur's throat burned with those questions worse than when the spell had left him dying. And yet Lancelot's eyes shifted. Some shadow passed over them, and under them, and through them, and Arthur knew. And he hated.

"I found out," Lancelot admitted. And while the words blasted him back, they also burned back the fire within him. Found out.

"You weren't told?"

And Lancelot shook his head. "No. I heard him. When I was fighting the griffon."

The griffon. A creature Arthur and his knights had thought Lancelot had slain. But of course, of course Merlin was involved. Just how many beasts had Arthur not really killed, either? It was enough to make a man feel impotent. But worse than that, perhaps, was that Lancelot, who had only known Merlin for such a short amount of time, had noticed something so intrinsic about him that Arthur had missed. Arthur, who hadn't even actually learned for himself, but had learned through his father's accusations and Merlin's deathbed admission. Who hadn't seen a trace of Merlin's magic until he'd blasted that dagger away in mid-air and brought fire from nothing; until he'd held that glowing orb in his hand.

The other man just kept watching the two of them parry their verbal sword strikes back and forth, his face twisting more and more into a rictus of lost befuddlement. Arthur finally turned to him. "Name?"

The man nodded and straightened his shoulders. "Percival, sire."

Arthur raised a brow, but nodded. He looked to Lancelot. "A friend?"

"A loyal one, Arthur. He's trustworthy."

Arthur accepted that. At the moment, he needed all the help he could get. "And your opinion on magic?"

Percival looked to Lancelot, then back to him. "Um... it's illegal?"

Arthur lifted his chin. "Yes. It is. And we're going to be breaking a sorcerer out of the dungeons as soon as we get you both up to speed."

This time it was Percival's eyes that widened.

He heard the pounding footsteps only seconds before the yelling. Arthur held up his hand and pointed to his new table. Lancelot quickly sat, blinking as he took in the new stains on the ceiling, but Percival just stared at Arthur a bit vacantly. Arthur ignored him and rushed to his door. When he yanked it open, he was faced with Gwaine shoving against multiple guards pushing against his chest. "Arthur! They're executing him now!"

Arthur reeled back.

Something screeched behind him, and then someone was by his side. "We'll go," Lancelot said.

Arthur jerked a nod. He tried to give them some instructions, even waved his hand as if to point or signal to something. But his mind was lost. "Go," he whispered. They left.

Merlin.

He raced to his window, heedless of the guards inevitably watching him. The curtains were pulled back; Arthur had just looked out that same window moments ago! And yet there he was, being dragged by his father to the dais. At least Merlin was digging in his heels. Not that it did anything; as Arthur watched, the executioner came and took Merlin from Uther, pulling him forward with one arm. In his other hand was an axe, which the tall man hefted onto his shoulder as he yanked on Merlin's bound hands. No pyre, as Arthur had watched for. No nothing.

Uther was moving. Quick. Fast. Before Arthur could calm down and rally himself. Before Arthur could know and try to stop it.

Arthur had to do something.

There was still a horrible ruckus behind him, and he expected that Gwaine was fighting his – no, his father's – knights. But Arthur couldn't be bothered with something so trite and inane when Merlin was about to be killed right in front of him. No. Fighting his guards would waste time. But he was too high up to...

It was insane. Absolutely insane, and absolutely brilliant. He grabbed a chair as new as the table, turned to the window, and threw the thing out. Everyone, both just outside his room and down on the city street, looked at him. He leaned out the window. "Merlin!"

And even though Uther was standing right next to him, even in the hands of an executioner with an axe making his way up the dais steps, even with the quickly-gathering crowd watching with horrified glee – even with all that, Merlin looked up. And his mouth dropped. And even though Arthur couldn't hear him over the sudden shouting, his very distinctly saw Merlin scream his name.

He jumped.

Merlin screeched like a freaking girl, loud enough that even with the wind in his ears, he heard it. But then there it was; he'd only felt it once before, when Morgause's fire had been consuming him from the inside out, but it was cool and bright, like lazing in the breeze of a warm summer's day, and he recognized it as Merlin's magic. It cradled him, stopped him mid-fall. He heard something move, and then people shouting. Screaming. A number of gasps, mostly overshadowed by women's shrieks. Arthur stared out across the gap between his window and the courtyard as men ran over to him. Merlin was too far away for him to see his eyes, but from the look on Uther's face, it was apparent Merlin's eyes were glowing that bright, ostentatious gold.

And then Arthur heard men shouting below him, and suddenly he was falling again. Instead of hitting the ground, however, several men held up a large tarp as his weight pressed down into it. He hardly waited to stop falling before rolling, trying to get out. The men all around him shouted at him. "Enough! Shut up! Get me up. Now!"

And the men snapped to attention at his orders and moved. Arthur looked back to Merlin, but he couldn't see the man's face anymore. The executioner had moved to Merlin's side. Arthur's heart seized in his throat.

Thank goodness, but he did not once think 'to hell with my country.' He did not once think 'I don't care about Camelot, just let Merlin live.' But he feared that might be because he couldn't think anything at all, save the continuous cry of no. No. Not him. Not Merlin. Please.

Arthur shoved off the hands trying to check to see if he was all right and raced forward. He couldn't see everything very well, and the crowd was too damn loud for him to make out much of anything, save for his father's angry voice – and then he saw the executioner raise the axe. He managed one highly undignified scream.

And then the executioner paused mid-swing.

Arthur raced forward as the crowd shifted back, one giant collective gasp splitting the air between the front row of people and the dais. Arthur wedged himself within the no-man's land and looked up. "Merlin!"

Merlin looked at him, and though Arthur expected the axe to fall the moment he did – and flinched at it – Merlin's eyes continued glowing gold, and the executioner didn't move. Arthur stepped forward. "Don't," Merlin said. Arthur ignored him and climbed onto the dais.

"Arthur!" Uther said. Arthur hadn't even looked at him. He didn't think he should. His rage might flare up the instant he set eyes on his murderous, lying father. Instead he looked at Merlin. Merlin, who still knelt in front of his father, in front of his people. Awaiting execution.

If Arthur went to him, knelt beside him and touched him, his people would think he was subject to Merlin's whims. But he couldn't stay away. Merlin had done nothing to deserve any of this. And damn the idiot, but he seemed to see what Arthur was going through. And he smiled. "Go, Arthur. Go away. I can... I can make my own escape."

The words were low, but there was no mistaking what he was saying. He would honor his promise to live, and he would go. But Arthur shook his head, because he couldn't allow this injustice. Morgana had been right. Sometimes you had to do what was right and damn the consequences. "I'm not leaving." He looked at his father. "I'm not leaving, and I'm not letting you break your word, father."

"Arth – my prince," Merlin said, shifting his gaze to the crowd for a moment before hunching down, as if somehow doing so might make his voice softer. Arthur wanted to punch the idiot in the face. "I can handle this."

Except Merlin couldn't handle hanging socks up to dry, let alone getting himself out of such a mess. Arthur stood straight and faced his father like the prince he was. "Enough of this. I told you. This man saved my life. Such deserves amnesty."

Uther waved his guards forward, but for some reason, they hesitated. Arthur looked to Merlin, but he couldn't know if he was using his magic on the guards or not; his eyes still glowed from keeping the executioner in place. Carefully, ready for his father or the guards to retaliate, he stepped forward and yanked the axe from the man's hands. He set it down beside himself. He heard Merlin sigh, and then the executioner stumbled forward, nearly pitching himself on top of Arthur. Arthur shoved him away, furious, at the moment, with the man's very existence.

"I will never allow a sorcerer to walk free," Uther said, and he glared at the executioner. The man nearly stumbled over his own feet.

"Then perhaps you should have thought of that before you promised to do no harm to him," Arthur said, proclaiming the words loudly enough for the entire kingdom to hear. Merlin actually winced at it. Uther's skin turned blood red. Stained. "You remember that oath you made, father? Or perhaps you forgot, also, how I named Merlin to be my consort. Do you know what a consort is, father? It's a spouse to royalty." Arthur let the words hang for a moment, and Merlin, his eyes once again blue as the morning sky, stared at him with that same wide-eyed look of awe that made Arthur feel ten feet tall and humbled all at once. "That makes him prince consort. We may have yet to have the church officiate, but naming him mine makes us as good as wed."

I will not allow this enchanter–"

"Say what you will, sire," Merlin said, cutting Uther off before Arthur could ruin himself in front of his people. Merlin looked up, faced Uther head on. Arthur saw his very shoulders shake as he did. "But I will never harm Arthur. Nor will I let him be harmed." He took a deep breath. It echoed through the courtyard, bounced off the faces of the people staring with slack jaws at this manservant-come-sorcerer. "Even by you, sire."

Uther's skin changed from Pendragon red to a rather plum-like purple. "I would never harm my son!"

While Merlin's deep breath had echoed, Uther's shook the ground like a dragon's roar. Yet Merlin faced it without flinching. "There are many ways to harm beyond physical."

Uther stepped forward. Arthur did, as well, ready to stop, to intervene. None of his father's guards came to stop him, and when Arthur chanced a glance, he found Kay, Lancelot, Percival, and even Leon, all holding the others back. It was for the best; Arthur being dragged off in front of all his people would be even worse than the disaster presenting itself right now. "You think I would ever do so?"

"You have," Merlin affirmed. "From the moment you decided Arthur did not know his own mind." And though Merlin seemed to quail slightly under Uther's fury, he still said, "I know I am just a servant, and also a man. I am prepared for that to be a hindrance to Arthur, and to sever any ties before it gets in the way of his destiny. But I made a promise to him. That I would live. That I would stay." Merlin turned his gaze to Arthur. "I didn't make him say those things. I didn't make him demand anything. He is my king. He commands me."

Arthur snarled. If Merlin continued, he might dig himself into a grave Arthur couldn't pull him out from – sorcery was bad enough without the man speaking down to his king. "Then I command you to shut up."

Merlin quirked a grin. And for the first time in human history, the idiot actually listened.

Arthur stepped forward again, until Merlin was safely hidden from his father's gaze by his own body. "You may not believe me. You may never believe me. Sometimes I can hardly believe myself." He kept his voice strong, loud, because if things were going to fall apart in his kingdom, it would be because of the truth. "But my feelings will not change. Not by distance nor by death. And if it were my mother kneeling there on that ground," he said, "you would feel the same."

"He is a sorcerer!"

"Yes," Arthur said, amazed he was no longer concerned. Why was he no longer concerned? "He is a sorcerer. I cannot deny it; I have seen it with my own two eyes. Felt it as he stopped my fall. But his magic has been used only to save me. To stop an evil woman's spell from killing me. To stop me plummeting to my death. To stop my heart from breaking." And he gestured to the executioner, explaining the last. "What king punishes a man for such loyalty?"

Because he's right, he realized. He's right, and he knows it. And acting on such a conviction need not be feared. "My husband has given his life for me."

The silence broke through every lip in the courtyard. For a few terrible seconds, the world went still, and Arthur found himself checking Merlin despite himself. But no, his eyes were blue.

And then the next instant, there was chaos.

People started screaming, raising their fists, surging forward to bridge the no-man's land gap. The knights finally moved, shoved through the walls of muscle made by Arthur's allies in order to keep the people back. This would have horrible ramifications for Camelot. What were the chances they wouldn't fall apart, be attacked?

But he'd done the right thing. Everything else would have to follow from that.

Uther looked livid. Horrified. A little strangled, as if he wanted to do something and found it just un-kinglike enough to warrant restraint. Arthur lifted his chin. "Just when are you going to learn that I have not been bewitched by this idiot? He doesn't even know how to keep his magic quiet long enough to let you die."

Somehow, through all of the shouting and shoving, some of his knights heard that. Kay gave Arthur one long, solid look before turning away. Arthur, too, had a lot of explaining to do. Guilt churned in his breast. But that, too, would have to be handled later.

The entire city seemed to be in an uproar, and Merlin quickly became surrounded. Not by the knights, who were busy fighting back the people, but by his friends – Gwaine, who surged out from the edge of the crowd; Lancelot, who bent down and hugged Merlin, strategically placing himself between Merlin and the knights as he did; Percival, whose giant bulk filled double the space as the rest; Kay, who stood with his sword half-lowered, prepared to fight but making it plain that he meant no harm to Arthur's betrothed; and Leon, strong, steady Leon, who had stood by his father's side without qualm for years but who now stood half beside Merlin and half beside Arthur, his eyes perpetually wide as if shocked he was actually doing what he was doing.

Arthur bent down to look at Merlin.

Merlin seemed perpetually surprised, too, and his glazed gaze caught on Arthur, but stalled for a few seconds before he actually seemed aware of Arthur's presence. His mouth opened and closed a few times. "You need to use your voice to make words," Arthur said. He tried for a grin.

Merlin, when Arthur tried to help him up, sagged brokenly against him. "I'm gonna die," he said, and looked out to Camelot's citizens – a mob. When Arthur tried once more to lift him, he found Merlin's legs unable to support him. So girly. But he supposed he could forgive Merlin this time, because Arthur's feet seemed about ready to fail him, too. Only the need to protect Merlin stopped him. "Arthur. Camelot. Your people." And Merlin turned to him, heedless once more of his own bloody safety. "You shouldn't have done that. You shouldn't be here. You look..." His mouth opened. Closed. "Whipped. Enchanted. Your people aren't going to believe you aren't being controlled by me–"

"But I'm not, so I don't care." Merlin's jaw flapped open again, and Arthur took the chance to wrench Merlin onto his feet and start leading him away. Uther shouted at him, at his guards. At them all. Raged. Arthur's hands trembled. He'd never seen his father like this. He was out of control. And perhaps, Arthur thought, wondering at the same time if he wasn't just trying to shift the blame onto another, perhaps Camelot was merely reflecting its king.

If that was so, then Camelot was on the verge of collapse.

Uther shoved away the executioner – good, Arthur thought savagely – and stormed up to Arthur. Arthur waved the others on, hoping Gwaine had the good sense to get Merlin to the horse he'd hopefully thought to prepare, and faced his father, shielding Merlin from the man's rage. Uther stepped right into his space and glared down at him. "You will not do this to me. To Camelot," he said. "If there is anything of my son left within you, you will stand down."

"I am every inch Arthur Pendragon, prince of Camelot," Arthur said. And despite the madness of the people watching, they all quietened at the sound of his voice. "I am a knight, a prince, and a man. I uphold the honor of Camelot each and every day, and strive to do everything and anything I can for this kingdom and its future." His father might have been taller than him in height, but he held no fear as the man tried to tower over him. He'd faced tall opponents on the battlefield before. "But as of today, I am no longer certain that I am your son."

Uther snarled and snapped, but Arthur had become adept at tuning people out after years of boring council meetings, and he just blanked it all out and turned away. Merlin, when he got to his side, had eyes so wide they seemed ready to pop out of his skull.

And because he could – because he'd confessed his intentions to the whole of his kingdom – he bent down and kissed those open lips.

---

Gwaine had not, in fact, gotten a horse ready.

But that was fine, because they needed far more than one horse.

Leon still looked ready to rebel, or perhaps to throw his sword away and give up trying to choose sides, but he stayed with Arthur, and for that, Arthur was infinitely grateful. Percival didn't seem too concerned one way or the other, and Arthur wondered what the man had accompanied Lancelot for. Whatever the reason, he was glad not only for his help, but for the loyalty he showed Lancelot in not asking any questions or walking away when things got rough. The man was a true friend to someone who dearly deserved them.

Although he still wanted to grill Merlin as to exactly what had happened during the battle with the griffon.

Of course, Gwaine and Lancelot didn't seem to be warring with themselves at all; while Lancelot saddled the horses, Gwaine led them out, never leaving Merlin's side for long. It may have been a leftover habit from guarding Merlin for so long, but it seemed like Gwaine was on edge, angry, ready to lash out at a moment's notice. But the only looks he cast at Merlin were concerned, and worried, and Arthur realized Gwaine might think of Merlin as a little brother who needed protecting. After all, Gwaine had seen Merlin when he'd been his most vulnerable, on the brink of death. And, well, one couldn't be near Merlin for longer than a day without noticing how clumsy and useless and ridiculous he was, or how blindly loyal and kind, and of course that makes the perfect recipe for recognizing the insufferable man's need for protection. This day would most certainly have proven that.

"If any of you have a problem with Merlin's magic," Arthur said, making every single person stop on a dime, "you may leave. I will not hold it against you." He looked at Kay, who stood on the outskirts of the group, just at the edge of the stables, arms now crossed and blade sheathed, most likely because of the tension simmering under Gwaine's veins, ready to explode. "I know I hid this from all of you." He looked to Leon. "I am sorry. I realize this has broken the bond of trust between us." Neither of the men moved.

Then Gwaine, of course, ruined it all. "Damn straight you should have told me!" The man looked at Merlin, swaying stupidly on his feet like he couldn't quite believe any of this was actually happening. "No wonder you kept shoving me out of the room whenever anything magic came up! I want to know everything." The man did not seem the slightest bit perturbed by the secret, and Arthur felt such green-fingered beasts squirm under his skin he wanted to strangle something. But Merlin looked up at the man with hope, and he couldn't help but be grateful once more. The easy acceptance was just what Merlin needed right then. Especially with the reticence of Leon and Kay. Lance just gave Merlin an encouraging smile when their eyes met, and Merlin managed his first small smile back. The green slime monsters attacked with a vengeance.

"I came to help," Percival said, breaking the silence. "Help Lancelot, and help his friend." Percival waved in Merlin's general direction, and the green slime monsters took a break long enough for Arthur to find himself once again in awe of Merlin's ability to gain loyalty for loyalty. "This doesn't change that."

Arthur outright smiled. "You are a true friend, then, Percival, and I thank you."

After Percival's announcement, Gwaine jumped in, as if refusing to be outdone. "I've traveled all over, including to countries where magic is perfectly legal. I've gotten in way more trouble with people without magic than those with. I don't give a rat's ass about something like that." And the man wrapped an arm around Merlin's shoulders. Merlin grinned again. His eyes had gone watery. He made a little sniffing noise as he thanked Gwaine under his breath.

Such a girl.

Lancelot said nothing. He didn't have to, Arthur supposed. Whatever he'd seen when he'd found out the first time, it was plain they would have had a talk about it. And whenever they had, they'd worked through it. Another cold touch of slimy hands down his back and gut, and he managed to let it go. It wasn't his fault that Merlin always gave himself away. Really, he should be amazed it had only happened twice. Before, of course, he'd managed to out himself in front of everyone. Granted, that was Arthur's doing, forcing him to either show himself or let Arthur plummet to his death, but he was about to be beheaded, anyway. By then, it had been a moot point.

It was Leon and Kay, however, whose voices truly mattered. Not only because Arthur wasn't one hundred percent certain how they would respond. Not just because they might respond harshly to Merlin, who almost certainly wouldn't be able to take it with any amount of aplomb, which would make Arthur cross and Gwaine potentially homicidal. Not even because they were Arthur's knights and he relied on them to have his back. It was because, first and foremost, they knew Arthur, and they knew Merlin, and they were Arthur's people, the people of Camelot. If these two who knew the two of them down to their thinnest marrow did not believe or accept them, then Arthur could never expect his people to do so. If they turned from Merlin, from Arthur, then Arthur would have no starting point. Nothing to work forward through. He would have no where to turn to make any of this any better.

And so he waited, his breath shallow, his nerves tight, his entire body writhing and reeling, to see just how his two knights, the only two to remain with him through all of this, would respond.

Leon was just shaking his head, over and over again, his gaze on the ground as if the dirt in front of the stable could somehow tell him how to respond without getting his own head chopped off. Kay remained silent.

Merlin cleared his throat. "This is my fault," he whispered. Gwaine started making noises, but Merlin ignored it, as usual. "Everything's gone wrong. You're supposed to be king." Merlin looked up at Arthur, and there were tears in the idiot's eyes. They fell. "You're supposed to rule over this kingdom, Arthur. You aren't supposed to do this."

"This kingdom is not being ruined, you idiot. Shut up." He rubbed the bridge of his nose as Merlin opened his mouth to respond, and thankfully, Merlin quieted. Twice in one day; the end was near. Well, that was good. An ending was needed. "It's like a deep wound, Merlin. And hopefully you've paid enough attention with Gaius to at least understand this. A wound bleeds. It gets infected. Untreated, it can turn gangrenous and need to be severed entirely. Our country has become infected, and gangrene has begun."

Merlin made a wretched sound. Arthur thought perhaps Leon did, too.

"I do not want this country lost. But at this point, treatment is difficult and painful, and should be done quickly." At Merlin's raised eyebrows, Arthur said, "I am a warrior, Merlin. I do need to know these things on the battlefield. In any case, an attempt is made to use maggots to clean the wound. For Camelot, this might be considered a possible chance by bringing in sorcerers who mean no harm, or allowing small amounts of magic – like you, saving my life. This would be the most beneficial. The other cure is more severe."

Amputation. No one said it, but certainly everyone thought it.

"You speak of treason," Kay said. "Murdering the king."

Merlin shook his head. "No! You can't, Arthur."

Arthur snapped at him. "I won't!" One of the stablehands peeked out from behind the stable. Arthur waved him away. "I don't have any desire to – why do you think I spoke of the other option? But the rest of the body rejects the maggots, is where I was going." He glared at Merlin. "It rejects getting better. That's what Camelot is doing right now. It's so used to this infection – the infection I myself had–" Merlin flinched here, and Arthur couldn't help but want to pull him in close. He was already held by Gwaine, though, so he had to make do without. "That it will take time for it to allow this change. But if the infected person refuses treatment..."

Gwaine frowned. "How can you get treatment to work on someone who doesn't want it?"

Merlin paled. "I can't take away his will, Arthur. It isn't right." He looked to the ground.

"Would you shut up, Merlin? I would never ask such a thing." Merlin just nodded, looking a bit relieved, and Arthur realized they'd never actually spoken about how Merlin's magic would be used. Merlin had handed it over without ever saying what he would and would not want to do. He basically had left his magic in Arthur's hands, for Arthur to decide what and when and how much. Arthur rubbed his jaw. He needed a shave. "You will never be asked to do something you aren't willing to do, Merlin. Don't worry about that."

And again, another relieved look. They really needed to discuss this in more detail.

How absurd. As it was, he needed to make sure Merlin stayed alive. They wouldn't be having another talk for quite a long while. "Listen to me, Merlin." He waited until those bright blue eyes were on him again. "You have to leave." Merlin opened his mouth to protest. "No! Shut up and listen, for once in your life." A third time. It almost didn't seem real. "You have to leave for now. I have to work to rebuild Camelot. I will be fighting with my father every step of the way, and the people need to see me fighting against him alone. Without you, without my knights. They have to see what I'm doing. I must be the doctor, do you understand? But Camelot's people are strong. They can survive until I manage to start treatment."

Merlin nodded. "But what about you?" he asked.

"I'll be protected," he said. "Morgause may have jumped in to attack me, but she failed, and she'll know better than to try the same tactic twice. We'll be ready for her if she does. Which means we'll have some time, at the very least. I want you to go back to Ealdor and wait for me."

Merlin's mouth did that stupid fish thing. Arthur tried to ignore how much it made him want to kiss the fool again. "I'll come looking for you, and when I do, I'll make sure our engagement is a bit more official." More carp mouth. A weird little squeaky noise. The man couldn't get more girly if he tried. "But until then, you'll have to wait. Kay and Leon will be with me. Percival as well, since my father doesn't know him enough to hold a grudge." Arthur waited on that one until Percival nodded in acceptance; after all, the man had come to help Merlin, not Arthur. "I need you to stay with Gwaine and Lancelot, however, all right? Stay with them so that Morgause can't get to you, either."

Merlin nodded. It looked more like he was just moving his head thoughtlessly, but Arthur took it. "Gwaine stays," Merlin whispered.

"No," Gwaine said, pulling away to look at Merlin as if he was mad. "I'm not leaving you alone."

"I need you with Arthur." Merlin looked up at him. "You're good with people. You can help."

Gwaine opened his mouth to protest again.

"Please."

And as usual, Merlin's plea settled the matter. "Good, then." Even though he thought Gwaine might be more a hindrance than a help. It burned to leave Merlin with only one ally. But if it would make him leave without a fuss, Arthur would take it. "And wait just inside the forest for a few moments. I'll have Gwen join you." He gave Merlin a pointed look. "Be sure to inform everyone of the changes."

Merlin tried to say something. It came out more like a stuttered grunt.

"Go. I'll take care of things here and meet up with you later." He strode to Merlin's side, his proximity finally forcing Gwaine off Merlin entirely. The man went to check the saddles. Arthur grabbed the back of Merlin's head. "Don't die."

Merlin tried on a grin, and it was tremulous and shy and absolutely brilliant. Nearly blinding. "I won't. You either, prince prat."

Someone snorted. Arthur didn't check who. "I'm too important to kill."

Merlin's smile wobbled for a bit. Arthur had no idea what was going through that idiot's head, but he shook it out nonetheless. When Merlin's eyes cleared, Arthur bent down and kissed him again.

It was ridiculous. He'd told himself he wouldn't be the kind of prince who put a love before his kingdom. He'd told himself that he would never do just what he was doing, because it would leave Camelot weak. He'd thought this would be the worst thing to ever happen to Camelot.

He curled his hand into Merlin's hair, tilted his head slightly, and dove deeper. Merlin only tasted of himself, proof that he hadn't eaten anything for a while. The idiot. But Arthur licked at it nonetheless, because even though he wanted to smack Merlin whenever he found the fool skipping meals, he also liked this particular taste the best. And seeing as he was about to have many lonely, miserable nights of yanking off to look forward to, he would take it all until Merlin tasted of nothing but Arthur.

When he was finally done, Merlin's eyes were glazed and his thinner breeches didn't disguise the level of his interest. Arthur smirked. "I'll see you soon."

Merlin nodded. "I'll get stronger," he promised. "And I'll expect word from you every couple of weeks. If I haven't gotten anything, I'll assume the worst."

And come running back to Camelot, heedless of his own safety. Arthur nodded, his face serious. "I'll keep in touch."

Merlin nodded again. He still didn't move. Finally Lancelot came and touched his shoulders, gently steering him away. Merlin, Girl Mode in full swing, kept his eyes on Arthur the whole time, even as he was led to one of the horses.

As Gwaine grabbed Merlin's and Lancelot's horses and helped Lancelot lead Merlin away, Kay finally stood from the edge of the stable and came to stand before Arthur. Arthur couldn't ever be prepared for what Kay may say, but he pretended to be, nonetheless.

Kay's lips thinned. "I will stand by you," Kay said. Arthur nearly collapsed. He breathed a silent breath out. "I have seen this same infection," Kay said, his words slow, measured. Leon stared at the man. "I do not believe Merlin is dangerous to you, or to Camelot."

He disagreed with what Uther was doing. He believed Merlin was loyal to Camelot and the crown. Arthur smiled. "Thank you, Kay." Kay nodded and stepped away again, this time watching to make sure none of the other guards came from the still-raucous courtyard toward the castle.

Arthur made sure not to look at Leon, thus saving him from the pressure of answering right then. At that moment, just having his help was enough.

Merlin rode out from the stable then and headed toward the side of the castle, ready to follow the wall through the back streets and out of Camelot. Arthur found himself acting a bit girly, as well, watching Merlin leaving, Gwaine and Lancelot heading out, as well. Arthur could only suppose Gwaine meant to guard Merlin as long as possible. The horses nickered and shook their heads, almost as if recognizing the fact that they left for a long travel, almost certainly prepared for battle, taking in the tension of their riders. Good, Arthur thought. They would be that little bit more protected.

Leon cleared his throat, pulling Arthur's attention away from the retreating figures. "Anyone who knows Merlin could never question his loyalty to you. Especially after today." At Arthur's furrowed brow, he said, "he tried to get you to leave him alone. He tried to order you away in order to protect your place in Camelot, while he attempted to escape on his own. It would make him the monster, Arthur, and you the victim."

Arthur hadn't quite seen the other side of it. He'd known Merlin was trying to protect him, but he hadn't seen what it would do to Merlin. Merlin would have become the evil sorcerer escaping from the arms of the law. Magic would be vilified. Merlin would be an outcast. And Arthur would still be seated comfortably on his throne, nothing lost. Nothing gained.

Arthur sucked in a breath and thanked himself for not being stupid.

Leon looked a bit like a man torn, but he stood straight as he spoke. "I have seen Merlin stand by you as you faced bandits, monsters, and sorcerers. He has saved your life. He may have influenced you, sire, but I believe it to be for the better. And if you say you are still you, then I must believe you." Leon knelt to the ground. "I vowed to fight beside you many years ago. I gave you my sword then. I give you my sword now."

Arthur nodded, his throat horribly tight. "Thank you, Leon."

Leon nodded. Then hesitated. "If I may...?"

Such normalcy in the midst of madness nearly made Arthur laugh. It would not have been a balanced laugh. "Speak your mind, Leon."

The man hesitated. Cleared his throat. "Sire. I... what are our advantages?"

Arthur grinned at the military reference. He nodded out past the walls of the castle, past the stables and the castle grounds, out toward the roaring feud of citizens versus guards. "Them." Leon's brows rose. "Listen to them, Leon. Not one has demanded Merlin's death. They want answers. Justice. They heard what I said. They are no longer willing to believe I am enchanted. I did, after all, refuse to stand down at Merlin's behest." Arthur grinned. "And Merlin actually managed to keep his mouth shut for a minute or two when I ordered him. It certainly seemed like he was under my authority, not the other way around." One more random gesture, this time trying to encompass more than the crowd, even though none of them could be seen through the stable walls. "Our king has shown himself unwilling to consider the circumstances of Merlin's outing. The people aren't pleased with that."

"Or perhaps because they care for their prince?" Kay said.

Arthur tilted his head, ignoring the fluttering in his chest from such praise. "They want to know the full story. And if they hear it and are displeased with our king's decision, there will be riots. Boycotts. People will refuse to work, to trade. Camelot will find itself without food or cloth or labor. And when we're vulnerable, it's almost certain we'll be attacked. Before that happens, father – the king – will have to negotiate with his people. I will not allow him to do it without giving Merlin and myself adequate representation."

Kay frowned. "It's almost certain that Merlin would have to attend."

Arthur nodded. "And it's our job to make sure his return isn't to a crucifixion."

Leon nodded. Mission parameters. And, thankfully, an attempt to work with the king, not against him. As if they were going to salvage Camelot and not change its very foundations.

But the foundations needed to be changed in order to save Camelot, and Arthur would make sure it happened. It was, apparently, he thought with a small smile, his destiny.